


Walking With Dante

by Estel, scifichicx



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1970s, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol, Backstory, Crossdressing, Drugs, F/M, M/M, Mission Fic, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estel/pseuds/Estel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifichicx/pseuds/scifichicx
Summary: The team takes on a mission in Rio in 1977 to take down an attempt from an American connected to New York organized crime from bringing cocaine to the US and all the ills that come with the drug business. Their target is the growing organization of Dante Lucchese, the unloved (and closetedly gay) son of Tommy Lucchese, one of the biggest names in the New York mob scene. To dismantle something that would blatantly create a cycle of cruelty and shift power the direction of an unscrupulous organization, they all must go undercover and make their way into Lucchese's good graces.[ Told from multiple 3rd Person Limited POVs of each member of the team ]
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 122





	1. The Signal

The job was elaborate, but the world was getting faster so they didn't have a lot of options. 

_ Rio, 1977.  _

It had been about 48 hours since Joe and Nicky- or rather Rahim and Giovanni Lorenzo had been flown in. Joe had always been the better grifter, but since Nicky was right beside him, all he had to do was follow Joe's lead- which was something he was in fact good at. It was too risky to touch base and maybe even too risky that Andy hadn't gone with Booker to New York to wait for their cue. What could she say? She'd always had trouble giving up control. 

The view must have been spectacular from the suite Joe and Nicky had been put up in. Her green-tinted night vision view was less impressive, wobbling with the rock and pitch of the ocean on a sorry excuse for a boat floating lightlessly in black water. There was no reason to keep checking in other than to take Andy's mind off how the ocean made her feel. Live long enough and anything can eventually turn into a bad memory. Though some were worse than others. 

She needed to sleep, and eat something real, and God damn she needed a shower. Still, there was something poetic about shifting miserably on the waves, something that stung of punishment that was actually karma. Last night, or rather this morning just before four, Joe and Nicky stumbled in and slept late into the day. That was a good sign. These types were night creatures. If the pattern held, it would still be an hour or two before they would even be around to give the signal. 

That was fine. Patience was hardly a problem for her. 

…

Rahim was a familiar skin to wear. Not one that Joe wore with any happiness, but one that he knew well. The identity had been built based on an arms dealer (or more like a terrorist) that he dealt with about ten years prior. That asshole hadn’t been a Persian ex-pat, nor did he tout around his fuckboy boyfriend, but he was a selfish hedonist who enjoyed cruelty the same way people like a fine cigar. Also, Rahim wasn’t a blood splatter at the bottom of a quarry. Not yet.

In the same way, Dante Lucchese was not a foreign concept to any of them either. He was a spoiled youngest son of a wealthy crime family who loved power and his own reflection most in the world, despite repeated professions toward any Christian God. Dante was an exemplary creature of his breed: he partied and drank like he had no cares and wronged those around him as often as he breathed.

Tonight, they were prowling a nightclub in the heart of Rio de Janeiro. Dante was pantomiming an alpha male the way he had been trained from his birth by his family. It was actually very sad to watch, especially when Joe, wearing the fineries of Rahim, could make an entrance with another patron feeling the cool steel of his butterfly knife under his chin for just bumping him along the narrow walkway of booths that overlooked the dancefloor. The other man whimpered an apology and crawled away with his tail between his legs as Dante’s entourage parted for the Persian gun runner that their boss was trying to win favor with and thus, hopefully, find favor among his own family again.

Micro-cruelties like that - scaring random club patrons - didn’t phase Joe. It was the lingering promise of further dramatics that might be required that had him uneasy. At least he had Nicky, as his pet business manager Lorenzo, at his side to keep his nerves from fraying.

The night had gone on fairly uneventfully - drinking, talking about nothing of import, and watching people dance - until Joe knew it was time to start moving along their operation.

“Dante,” he said as he leaned a ring-covered hand toward the young man, “have you considered my offer of assistance? It would mean a lot to our relationship if you would accept my help. A sign of good faith.”

Dante snubbed out his fourth cigarette before looking Joe square in the eyes. He clearly disliked the word “help” but knew the exchange being offered here would be to his benefit. “You are a tough man, Mr. Mokri.” He held out answering outright, tapping his signet ring on the table. It was a nervous habit that Joe had come to know and hate, but appreciate it for the tell that it was. He sighed, fighting a petulant outburst like the tantruming sociopath that he was, before nodding. “Bring your man. If he passes my tests, I’ll consider him for the job.”

Displeased by Dante’s grab at shifting the power, Rahim clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Dante, Dante… Are we not friends? It is a gift. Do with it as you please.” Then he smiled like a knife.

The night ended nearly at the cusp of morning and they meandered back to their rented penthouse. It was undoubtedly under surveillance of some form. Thankfully, they had their own reconnaissance on it as well.

...

Andy had to admit, sleep was a damn nice thing when one could come by it. The modern world must be making her soft, because between a growling stomach and the tedious pull of seasickness she was almost dozing against the eyepiece of her scope. If this took much longer, she would have to change the boat’s position to account for the impending dawn. But thankfully a hint of motion caught her eye and she pressed back to the eyepiece, watching Joe and Nicky spill onto the balcony. The signal was an easy one to pass off as casual interaction, and Andy knew that it was coming because Nicky looked fucking exhausted as he slung his arms around Joe and they kissed long and easy while leaning against the rail. 

Fucking finally. 

Andy packed up. She would need to be at the airport tomorrow morning.


	2. Coalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dante's blessing, Joe (as Rahim) calls in his backup. Booker is still working on being more than himself undercover.

The only good thing about this job so far was that the bed was exquisite and they could sleep in as late as they wanted to as long as the sun was up. Nicky tended to like to get to bed at such an hour that he could feel fresh shortly after sunrise. The years and situations he’d been through had helped him sweep past needing to sleep and wake up at any particular time, but he still stirred just after sunrise no matter how dogged tired he was. His head spun from a particularly disgusting pre-hangover when he regained consciousness about forty minutes after hitting the bed. He was full of drugs and liquor and even the gentle blue light seeping past the curtains made him feel nauseous. Thankfully, he had the steady weight of Joe behind him, and arm over him and Nicky knew that their second morning would be infinitely better. With that comfort, he fell back into a sticky, dreamless sleep. 

… 

Booker hadn’t slept properly all week. He’d gotten into a vicious fight with Andy about them splitting up, but at the end of the day, she was fucking right and maybe that was what always pissed him off the most. His seconds were restless. His skin itched. He needed to be back with them, not in some borrowed penthouse, building the nuance of the absolute piece of shit he was going to live as until the end of this god-forsaken job. 

Fucking Andy always went on and on about how everything is lost to time. That at the end of the day, if they were good at anything, it was the ability to forget. Well, if that was fucking true, then why was his cursed head spinning with the same scene? Unfolding in excruciating clarity every time he was still. It didn’t help that instead of three-thousand years ago, this had only taken place sixteen days ago, before he got on the plane, before Nicky and Joe left. And it was mercury wicking at his spirit steadily and giving him no peace. 

_ Sixteen (fucking) days ago… _

“Think you can handle it?” Andy asked, head cocked and hands on hips. 

Booker squirmed, he couldn’t help it. He was only good at a certain kind of lying. Thankfully, his flask was only half-empty and he consulted it before answering. “I can do it.” 

Andy softened, a subtle easing of muscles and a relaxing of posture. “I believe you can do it.” 

Booker fucking hated it when she looked at him like that. He wanted to be ordered or loved, the middle was a son of a bitch. He shrugged and let the action further slouch him into his chair. “Then I don’t see the problem.” 

Yes he did. They both knew damn well what the problem was, but Booker didn’t want to talk about it and Andy didn’t want to push. She watched him, somewhere between stark clinical analysis and aching compassion. Booker couldn’t take it. He pushed out of the chair and went to the window. If only it offered fresh air, but it was sealed shut and he felt sympathy for it. What was a window if it was only a view and not an opening? 

“You need to be a certain way.”

Booker drank and then nodded at Andy’s reflection. She certainly knew he had a better view of the inside of this shithole motel than anything on offer outside. If she could just stop looking so goddamned concerned- so- 

He tossed the flask to his abandoned chair. “I get it, boss.” Fuck, life did feel so fucking heavy sometimes. “I’m the worst version of myself.” Or maybe he already was. To hell with it. “I know I’m good. I’m fucking great and people love me for it. Or at least I like to pretend they do- that’s better than knowing at the end of the day I’m only worth what they can get out of me. I’m Icarus. I’m a candle burning napalm. I’m a Greek tragedy walking to the summit of Olympus because falling from that height eventually is better than looking back.”

And before Andy could settle into that fucking maddening look again, Booker crossed the room and seized her by the arms. “And you are something pretty and bright. Youth that I’m jealous of. Beauty I can’t be but at least I can try to own it.” It worked, all trace of sympathy in her was replaced with intense fascination. Booker took her by the chin and tried to imagine believing that any inch of him was better than her. He took a long, deep breath, gently tilting her face this way, then that, until- 

“You are an insignificant little nothing,” He hissed, tightening the space between them. “You are lucky to be anywhere near what I’ve built. If you step out of line, if you risk what I have-” And a genuine flash of something feral and vicious crossed his features. “I will fucking kill you, do you understand me?”

Finally, Andromache the Scythian was gone. In place was Andrew and this time he was scared and too young and too ambitious. He trembled and Booker- Nathan- felt the power of it pump his blood. Wide-eyed, Andrew nodded. “I wouldn’t. I love you-” 

Booker tossed Andy back. It took a moment and a glance to his abandoned flask, but he got his feet back under him. He softened and, as Nathan, he gathered Andrew into his arms. “I know baby-” he purred, because he knew what it actually meant and that was fine with him. His hands moved as they were supposed to- pulling and clutching and marking claim to the body trembling against him. He kissed Andy’s neck, pressed tighter, taking charge and taking anything in his path-

Because he was Nathan Cartwright and this tiny creature was Andrew something-or-other who would let Nathan hit or fuck or abandon him as he saw fit as long as he kept supplying whatever let Andrew keep feeling this way. Whatever Booker was, he could be this, too. He kissed Andy like a threat, ugly and rough and nothing like he wished it could be. And when it was over he shoved her- him- away with all the bitterness of his grief-twisted heart. 

Andy nodded, “Good.”

_ Now. _

Booker hurled his flask and watched as it bounced off the wall and hit a vase, knocking it to the floor where it shattered. His first instinct was to apologize to some spectre of Andy, but that just pissed him off more. He walked up to the pieces of the vase. Looked at it. Marked the way it could be glued and pieced back together-

And he stomped on it. His boot slammed down on the fine china-work over and over again until all that was left was dust. 

There. That felt right.

The phone rang.

…. 

“Get off your ass and get down here,” Rahim rasped into the phone. “I am staking this deal on you, Nathan, so do what I’m paying you for and do it well.” The ‘or else’ part of that message was not needed. Booker had created a beautiful story about how ruthless Rahim was in Palestine last year. Hopefully their youngest could step up like Andy had promised he would. Every piece needed to be on the board.

“Okay, okay, boss,” Booker casually sloughed off the threat. “But you’re footing the bill for two tickets this time. I’m not going to Rio to sit on my ass and watch you and Lorenzo fuck each other’s brains out.”

The ocean breeze kicked up the side of the building, tossing Joe’s hair as he leaned against the balcony railing, shirtless, despite hating the exposure, just in case their paranoid friend was watching. He let the crackling line fall silent for a moment except for the screeching gulls nearby as he pulled a little on the phone cord. The unease on the other side of the shitty phoneline was exactly what he’d hoped for. “You want a second ticket, you have one, but don’t think it is free.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Mr. Mokri.”


	3. The First Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally joined by Andy and Booker, the team puts their plan into motion while suffering the whims of Dante and his way of doing "business".

Sleep had caught up with Andy in fits. She came to just after nine, heart rocketing and then easing off to pounding as she got her bearings and decided, no, she probably hadn’t missed anything. It wasn’t until she’d settled that she realized that Joe probably hadn’t even called Booker yet, and remembered that the time difference between Rio and New York was only an hour. Booker wasn’t going to be there for a long time. It was eight-oh-six in New York and given that Joe was certainly still unconscious, Booker still wasn’t even on a plane. If she was right, he’d probably make it in just after seven tomorrow morning. 

She’d made it to the outskirts of the airport, looking to the world like a lost tourist behind the wheel of a nondescript car. Andy sighed and chewed on some soft, dry cookie full of fruit. It was near flavorless, but she kind of liked it. Thankfully the car she’d acquired was more comfortable than squatting in some bushes so she popped the seat back and stretched languidly in the early morning light. She finally settled when the sun hit just so through the windshield and made her feel so nice and warm that she couldn’t help but doze pleasantly. 

Like clockwork, as her internal clock had been honed over millennia, she stirred when the temperature rose enough and the light filtering into the car was too direct. She checked her short-cropped hair in the rearview and put on her sunglasses before walking out of the car and into the airport. If she was right Booker won’t have been waiting long. 

It made her nervous that she didn’t see him right away. She’d felt confident enough before, but now she worried he’d beaten her there and left. He wouldn’t though. Unless Nathan Cartwright needed to. Thankfully, before she could dwell on it, she caught a familiar silhouette waving at her. Andy knew how to be functionally invisible and when she pressed herself to Booker’s side, anyone nearby would assure that indeed, that young man had flown in with that older man and they do seem to be oddly close friends. 

…

Nicky well and truly hated this job. He hated the itch of polyester and the way it made him sweat. He hated the fit of his pants and the lapels on his jacket. He hated the style of his hair and the gold chain heavy around his neck. More than any of these things he hated pretending to be Giovanni Lorenzo. Giovanni (Lorenzo to his friends) was a slick-handed opportunist who would stab anyone in the back for an advance. He was the kind of man who laughed at someone’s suffering and called empathy a marketing technique. Nicky knew that Giovanni didn’t love Rahim but thought he did because he was convinced he understood what love must be. Nicky knew that Giovanni would betray Rahim for a good deal- and he would still insist it had been love. 

The nights had been a steady blur but Nicky had the presence of mind to stay in the grift even when he was ill with drugs and weary from noise and too much attention. He took the brunt of what passed as culture in this circle, making nice with people that made his blood boil and being the one to put whatever decadence they passed around into his body so his halal-respecting boyfriend could tightly decline. By the time Booker- “Nathan-” and his “boyfriend” arrived, he was already spinning again from a mix of a few kinds of liquor and cocaine. It was easy to fall into the patter of saying hello and stumbling back into another pounding party. 

However tonight, something was different in the air. Nicky knew Joe felt it too, by the way he lingered and how tightly he held on where there had previously been a casual hand. Alighieri knew how many circles lay within hell. Nicky mused and worried whether they would receive a similar tour. 

….

Descending into the club was like stepping into a poison womb. Sticky, swamp-thick body heat welled up and over them. The light was low and tinted red at the edges. Something that must have been music slammed a pulse along the walls and right into Booker's fucking brainstem. The last of daylight was still clinging to the outside, but in here the windows were painted black and an eternal witching hour was guaranteed. 

There was something else, too. It took Booker a minute to notice but in the press of patrons, there were men dancing with men and women dancing with women- though to call it dancing was generous. This place was a thinly veiled orgy full of people the outside world frowned upon. It struck Booker how sad it was that all these people had to hide their true nature or keep it to the confines of certain places. No wonder their desire was so desperately bubbling, or exploding, out. 

They were led through the crowd, past the bar, and into a small room off to one side. The room itself was basically an elaborate booth, the main seat curled around the far side like a red vinyl snake. The table was set with unopened bottles of top-shelf liquor, glasses, a fresh bucket of ice, and of course a mirror-top tray already decorated with a series of thin lines of white powder. 

Booker hated this fucking job. 

A provocatively dressed young man and woman were already sitting at the booth and they rose up to greet Dante. When he kissed the woman, he bent her back and grabbed her ass, making her teeter in her high heels. He used the position to keep her off-balance and clinging to him as he prodded into her mouth with his tongue. He let her go with a slimy grin and a slap to the ass. Only after he'd proven his masculine prowess, did Dante turn to the young man. 

The difference was palpable, the air charged with too much-repressed desire. Dante took the man's face in his hands much like an uncle sizing up how his nephew has grown, but it was a display of calculated indifference. Booker saw the tremble in Dante's arms and the gravity that wanted to take him. The young man seemed to be used to this and took it upon himself to slither close and play the role of the seducing harlot. Like a well-rehearsed play, Dante "allowed" the kiss to capture him, but he was a man of very little willpower so it only took a beat of time before he was blindly, passionately pressing against the young man. 

Booker glanced back at Joe and Nicky, the former was wearing Rahim's reaction like a mask, but the latter was having trouble. Booker caught Nicky's eyes, flashing a silent warning. Immediately Nicky slouched drunkenly against Joe and put on an easy smile. By the time Dante was done with his distraction, Rahim and Giovanni looked appropriately bored. 

"Friends! My friends! This is Marcella and Roderick. You'll see they're good company for a business meeting." He winked at Rahim and grabbed Marcella's ass, giving it and her a shake. "Have a seat, yeah?" 

Dante slid in, planting himself in the center of the booth seat with Roderick on his right and Marcella on his left. Booker settled next to Marcella with Andy on the end and Joe was between Roderick and Nicky. It was a cold, but expected play for Dante to put a human shield on either side of himself. Thankfully tonight wasn't about killing - or at least that wasn't the plan. 

…

People were generally so certain they were acting of free will and to their better interest. The fact of the matter was people were reactionary animals in a habitat called society and for the most part that made them predictable. Andy had caught the glances Dante had shot her way. She was playing the role of a drug-addled hedonist who knew he could use his body to get what he wanted, which unsurprisingly seemed to be Dante's type. Andy knew the chess game that was unfolding as Dante sized up Booker and wondered if he could be a higher bidder on Andrew's "affections." 

She also knew that this piece of shit wanted to get fucked so bad it was unraveling him. The posturing with Joe was really about how pissed he was that he couldn't allow himself to bend over and take it. He needed to be the alpha male in every inch of his existence; a compulsion so deep it superseded all else. What he told himself he wanted and what he actually wanted were at odds. With the mechanism of his drive so obvious, Andy knew he would follow the pavlovian breadcrumbs exactly where they needed him to go. The only trick of it was timing. 

She hadn't said much because she was expected not to and most of what she had said was pithy exhalations of wonder and gratitude at her boyfriend's extravagant life. She spoke broken English and Greek to create a stronger barrier between herself and the others and largely acted like she lost interest whenever business came up. The only reason Dante even knew she existed is because he wanted to take her from Booker because “that's what alphas do.” Initially, that hadn't been the plan, but now that they were dealing with it, Andy shifted Andrew's personality to be genuinely in love with Nathan. Though it was the kind of love a young man burning too hot too fast held for the person who was the ticket to a better life. 

Andy picked up on relevant details in and out of the bullshit Dante was dragging them all through. She doted and hung on Booker and slowly allowed Andrew to warm up to the group. Except Joe, who kept Rahim aloof and out of the fray to allow Andy her hunt. A well-placed compliment, delivered quietly with a bowed head got Dante on the hook and Andy could feel him watching her more and more as the night went on. When they had all finished their first drink and a line of cocaine, which poor Nicky must be despising, the tone shifted abruptly. 

"Gentlemen," Dante started, pulling a large envelope from God-knows-where because he sure as fuck hadn't walked in with it. "Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?" Andy hated that stupid expression. She wasn't the most up on current slang in any given location but she knew this guy spoke with his father's voice, even if he didn't know how to use it. 

The table was big. Big enough that Dante could pull out a series of documents and lay them out. Andy casually lolled her head toward the excitement and asked what that was, even though she knew. Booker told her not to worry about it. This genius had brought out Booker's forged documents in a low lit public place. Even if they hadn't been immaculate, they would sure look it in this light. Marcella made a point to drink heavily and not look too closely, but Roderick was unabashedly curious, going so far as to lean over for a better look. Guess he had an interest in the business side of things. 

Dante pushed one of the papers at Booker. "Explain this to me, Mr. Cartwright." He said, tapping a stamp of an official seal. 

Booker glanced at it and back at Dante. "Supervisory approval. Without the stamp, the document isn't official." 

Dante sighed dramatically and shook his head, "I know that bit, Cartwright. What do you take me for, an idiot?" 

Andy knew the consensus on that opinion. 

Booker shrugged and sipped his four-hundred-dollar bourbon. "Then what's the issue?" 

"The issue," Dante stated, clearly feeling proud of himself. "Is that this seal is supposed to have fifteen stars and all I see are twelve." 

Booker nodded, never losing a step. "Ah but you see, they rotate the stamp in relation to the date." 

"They what, now?" 

"For security. They have different stamps that are changed around at random," Booker winked at Dante as he finished, "to discredit forgeries. You understand." 

Out of the corner of her eye, Andy could see Dante wasn't sure if he bought it. Which was hilarious because it was true. They had exactly replicated the stamp used by that office on that day. The president, the pope, and Mickey Mouse wouldn't know the fucking difference. There were few things more dangerous than a man certain of a false truth. 

Andy leaned drunkenly on Booker, catching his attention and he looked back at her. "Your job, really is very important," Andrew told his boyfriend, accent thick and certain words appropriately delayed. Nathan preened- or maybe it was just Booker and muttered something Andy couldn't quite hear before kissing her. She clutched his shirt front, pressing eagerly into the kiss. They put on a good show together. 

Finally, Dante cleared his throat. That took a while, he must have enjoyed their show. 

"What is it you do, Mr. Cartwright?" Dante asked. "Officially speaking."

Booker slung his arm back over Andy's shoulders, a position they'd favored for this job. "I'm an attaché to a French ambassador."

"Attaché?" Dante prodded, butchering the pronunciation of the word. "Doesn't that mean someone is going to miss you?"

Booker wheezed a soft laugh. "One would think. But I'm largely unwanted despite the prestige of my job." 

" _I want you_ ," Andrew whispered in Greek into Nathan's ear. Booker was not by any stretch fluent in Greek, but he got the gist and the tone of it sent a shudder through his body. Andy got the reaction she needed and Booker turned to her, looking too warm and not drunk enough. She pulled him into a kiss of intent and from this angle, Dante would get a good view of how adoringly Andrew kissed his boyfriend; how much lust crackled between them. And from that angle, Dante would know Andy's hand was sliding up Booker's thigh and higher-

Booker broke away from the kiss, grabbing Andy's hand away from where it had gone. "Babe," he rasped. "I'm trying to work." 

Andrew smiled with a laziness only youth and inebriation could bring. He nodded and looked around as if suddenly realizing they had an audience. Dante was slack with lust, fingers curling on a paper and unknowingly dragging the corner into a condensation ring. Good. They didn't need any fucking hiccups this early on. 

"Does my man meet your standards of satisfaction?" Joe asked. 

Dante didn't look at him. Dante looked at Andy. And Booker did a fine job of pretending not to notice. "He does," Dante said, before shifting his attention to Booker. "Or at least his work does. Let's see what kind of man he is."


	4. An Uncharted Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky begins to feel like he's drowning in the wretched role he is playing. Joe starts to lose his patience.

Nicky had no stomach and less patience for the kind of posturing going on. He was so fucking high his chest ached from his heart pounding and he'd not properly sobered up since they touched down in Rio. The only comfort was the steady fit of his body beside Joe's and the way he would gently pet wherever he could reach. It had been, what? Three days? Four? And all Nicky wanted was a solid sleep during actual fucking nighttime, a lot of water, and a hot bath. Oh- and a break from pounding, God-awful music would be nice, too. 

The constant crush of imbibing, thankfully, made him need to worry less about being a convincing accountant and more about just remembering what their damned fake names were. He'd defaulted to calling Joe "amati" when he was so strung out he barely even remembered they were working. Of course, Joe knew what that change over meant, and he protected Nicky from himself with his wall of easy finesse and brutal, deadly charm. 

It had been a relief to link up with Andy and Booker, even though they fell into their roles with relentless accuracy. Nicky struggled to fully plunge himself into this mentality, but with his team- his family- surrounding them he could read their cues and truck along accordingly. 

This club gave him a creeping feeling of dread. There was something depraved in its very makeup that slithered and offered apples of temptation to the starving. It made him sick. It made him want to go through each of the patrons and clutch them by the hands, looking into their eyes and ask them if this was really what they needed. If it was even what they wanted. 

He was grateful that by and large, his role was to be shallow and indulgent. That only took reacting and allowing himself to be swept down the river. He didn't have to do what Joe was doing; playing the cruel, calculating man of power who thought of lives as a commodity. Maybe they could go somewhere quiet after this. Just the two of them, but the four would be fine as long as they could just be themselves. Nicky ached to make a quiet dinner and listen to the rest of them philosophize and laugh together. 

Nicky ached to be sober. 

…

With the pit of vipers set, Joe suddenly felt more emboldened to embrace the moment - a sentiment repeated to him over and over by Andy. Now all he needed to do was lure Dante down to be devoured.

“I trust this will get you the clearances you need for our - arrangement,” Rahim spoke low and leaned towards Dante, ignoring Roderick’s very existence. After all, he was just furnishing - a vessel without substance.

Dante reached over the younger man between them and planted a hand firmly on Joe’s shoulder with a grin. “Patience! Don’t they teach you good business where you’re from?” he asked in cruel-intentioned jest.

Joe leaned back and glared Dante’s hand off of him. He set his jaw and straightened himself up as a soulless look shot across his eyes as he envisioned bisecting this spoiled, racist, worthless insect. His eyes unintentionally moved to Andy, if only for an instant in the frozen moment as everyone in the room watched Rahim calculate his response.

As Joe worked to cool the boiling in his blood, stoked by his hatred of this man, this place, and everyone besides them in it, Dante let the moment roll off of him. “I’m kidding, Rahim! Just a joke, my friend. Must be lost in translation.”

A deep, stale breath filled Joe’s lungs and he glanced aside to Nicky, who was watching intently. In his gaze, Joe found ground again and he let the feeling take him. He stayed there as long as he could, to breathe in a moment of reality buried in his love’s beautiful face. There was grace in it.

Then he stepped back into the violence of the moment as Rahim tensely smiled at Dante. “Where I am from, good business is good business, Mr. Lucchese.” He then raised his glass and took a sip. “I am just eager for us to gain our fortunes.”

This loosened the tension gripping them all like a noose. Dante laughed and tossed back the remains of his glass. “So am I, friend. But tonight let me share with our new guests some Rio hospitality.”

Joe did not like the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **amati.** _Italian._ loved.


	5. A Dark Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team nearly hits a breaking point as Dante pushes the boundaries of their ability to swallow the bitter pill of being undercover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this section does contain some abusive, sexually motivated behavior.

The night carried on, relentless and jerking like a train on ancient tracks. Booker hated trains. They made him feel like a dog on a leash, being tugged this way and that. They didn’t pull over, they took forever, and all you could do was accept that you were either trapped or going to dive out whether the train wanted you to or not. There was no diving out of this blasted night. 

It seemed somehow that Booker was the only one who favored bourbon and he’d made his way through just over half the bottle. It was damn strong, but he’d learned to drink like a warhorse before his immortality had ever kicked in. In fact he hated how his “gift” tugged him back to sobriety, like losing a hard-on mid-fuck. He made sure to refill his glass when the others did, and played the head-spun kind of drunk he wanted to be. 

Next to Andy, _Andrew_ , he felt like an amateur theater player. She took to drinking and snorting and laughing and pawing at him with easy finesse. It was hard to be sure, but Booker guessed she was probably just past a pleasant buzz. If Booker had the constitution of a warhorse, Andy was a battleship. 

The heat in this place was suffocating. Cigarette smoke curled lazily through the air. Even in the private room, the endless thrumming beat of modern music crashed against the door like a battering ram or a dejected lover, screaming for audience. Booker snubbed out his own cigarette, as it was only right to partake as Nathan Cartwright would. He looked over at Andy, lounging back, blowing out a lazy, indulgent plume of smoke. She truly did look to all the world like a young man. Some underfed, overfucked artist of the mind who happily tramped along between experiences. Booker wondered if she was enjoying it. 

His gut said she wasn’t. 

This was supposed to be a business meeting, but the conversation was inane. Dante was a desperate creature, running his throat ragged with praise for himself. The whole experience made time a fucking monster, dragging it’s mud-encrusted feet between seconds and offering no damn relief. Booker was nearing two-hundred years old and eventually, weeks and days became conflated. Hour or hours were harder to track. This fucking night, however, was the slowest, most torturous drag and he swore he could count out the second by second unfolding of it. 

Then the stripper showed up. 

She was very beautiful and she smiled nicely, but her eyes told him she didn’t want to be there. He watched the grace and strength in her muscles and noted how she might fight had she been born in a different time. Dante hurried out of the booth, shoving instead of waiting for them to get out of his way. Andy swayed and hung on Booker but she was already watching that prick from the corner of her eye. 

As Booker expected, Dante treated this woman like a thing. She laughed in the way she was expected to when Dante slapped her ass and Andy twitched. She heard something in that laugh that got under her skin and pulled her further from the oblivious mind of the role she was playing. Booker knew her well enough to feel the way her attention was on the scene unfolding, a protective air building intangibly around her. 

Dante was getting handsier and rougher, pulling at the clothes the dancer was supposed to remove herself. Booker could feel the weight of the people beneath the characters they were playing. Joe's eyes burning mad, Nicky tense and ready to fight, and his own certainty that they were going to protect this woman even if it meant blowing the job. This was going a strange, uncomfortable way; a way that woman had not signed up for. 

Booker’s hard pondering was shattered by Andy crawling into his lap. She shoved herself back against him and no amount of liquor was going to temper the way his body responded. She made a masculine whine of pleasure and Dante was abruptly no longer paying attention to the dancer, even with her vest clutched in his hand.

“Why you bring this girl here?” Andy asked, Greek accent wrapping around the words, even as they slurred. “You think she’s so pretty?” And fucking good God, the way she rolled her hips made Booker’s blood pressure spike. 

But her eyes were locked on Dante’s; this show was for him. He gave the dancer a roll of hundred dollar bills and she took her cue instantly, gathering up her discarded costume and just getting herself covered before silently disappearing back into the bar. 

Booker decided to act like he was well and truly shit-faced, letting out a soft groan and clumsily catching Andy’s hips. Andy moved on him to the muffled beat of the music. Her face- his face- Andrew, the lithe embodiment of temptation- was showing off what a pretty thing he was. Dante watched the display, slumped in drunkenness, mouth hanging open, sweat clinging and highlighting the thinness of his hair. 

She’d packed appropriately, and when she leaned back, Dante watched the line of her dick strain forward against too-tight pants. He licked his lips. 

Finally Booker remembered he had a fucking job to do. He wrapped his arms around Andy, giving her small form a good once over with his hands before turning her to a kiss. It was filthy and Booker realized just why she’d been so insistent on checking in before he agreed to this. It was in fact fucking awkward to grind on her, the boss, in front of Joe and Nicky and in this cursed room in this forsaken club. Still, it was so _necessary_ that he felt bizarrely detached from the moment. He felt his body reacting, he knew he was doing; what he was supposed to do, but his mind observed it all from a distance and in the sick strangeness of it, he let go of any dignity he had left. 

…

Andy was playing a dangerous game here, but Nicky knew it had been the right call. Andy had thrown herself into the open to save that woman’s life. She had Dante on the line like a fish that wanted to be cooked and it wasn’t until she turned her attention fully to Booker that Dante realized he wasn’t getting what he wanted so easily. But now he’d been prompted, and he was not a creature of will. He whispered something toward Marcella and she nodded and collected her purse. She was still trapped between whatever it was that Booker and Andy were doing and the rest of the people in the booth. Only Dante had stayed out of his seat, pacing around and displaying his pathetic checklist of actions that aimed to prove his power but only served to show him for the lonely, wretched thing he was. 

Nicky gently tapped Joe and they slid out of the seat to let Marcella take her leave. She gave Dante a kiss on the cheek, which he vaguely acknowledged before signalling to Roderick, who had also exited the booth with them, to come over to him. He obediently followed, and any of them could have predicted what followed. Nicky turned to Joe, avoiding the animalistic clutching and empty rutting between Roderick and Dante. “We should give them some privacy.” He said loudly enough for the others to hear. 

Dante spun to them, eyes wild, driven by so much liquor and a myriad of drugs. “No.” He said. “You should stay.” And then he looked at Andy, who had stopped writhing and instead was slumped, seemingly unconscious with her arms slung around Booker. 

Joe stepped towards Dante; a predator with thin patience. “We are partners, not whores," Joe spat. "We go when we want. Goodnight.”

Booker broke the deadly tension by quickly interjecting, “I think we need to get back to the hotel.” His tone said, 'sorry' and 'no hard feelings' at the same time. He looked up at Dante, eyes bloodshot and barely focused. "He doesn't know his limits," he added. For emphasis he pulled Andy, who was slowly sliding off of him, back up. She mumbled something in Greek, sounding pained and incoherent. 

Nicky saw the reaction in Dante’s body language; a sudden tightening of indignance. Dante let go of Roderick and ran his hand over his sweaty face. He nodded, unable to look away from Andy for very long. Nicky got the distinct impression that consciousness was not a requirement in Dante's conquests. He looked forward to this creature's death.

With some effort, Nicky helped Booker get Andy out of the booth and she weakly slumped along with them. Dante didn’t say much, just breathed raggedly, like a beast denied it’s rut. It made Nicky sick. People like him were cancer on this world, taking and destroying in a never-ending chase of self-denied satisfaction. 

They navigated Andy out of the club where she spun and heaved for show, then piled her into a car to go back to their respective accommodations. 

...

It wasn’t until Andy and Booker were closed in their hotel room with curtains shut that her eyes popped open, clear and alert. Andy sat up and looked at Booker, who was silently drinking and looking off at nothing in particular. It wasn’t time to talk about it- but really there was nothing to talk about. They both knew. 

Andy said nothing. She got up, took a deep breath and gently squeezed Booker’s shoulder on her way to the shower. 

He never looked at her.


	6. The Other Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team's business with Dante moves in a helpful direction after some social chaos.

After last night, sitting out on the balcony of a well-turned-out restaurant in the fresh, early-afternoon air seemed extremely tame to Joe. He wore a fine, dove grey suit that hung immaculately on him as he eyed the refreshing Caipirinha that had just been delivered to the table that looked out over the packed beach. The invitation had come when the phone rang and pulled him away from exercising to burn away some of the clinging frustrations from the night before and the mission as a whole.

It was Rahim’s turn again, in the ring mano y mano with Dante. Their respective entourages were dismissed to accomplish their ends while the two negotiated the details of their partnership over a civilized late lunch at a restaurant that Dante clearly chose for its pomp. Multiple forks always felt like the touch of an over-civilized institution, and this place set out three.

Dante had spent the first twenty-or-so minutes waxing philosophical about Brazil and how it was going to be the diamond in the rough that he alone polished into a crown jewel.

Another victim of the disease of _kibr_.

“I’m certain once your business bears its fruit, you will get all that is yours,” Rahim said through a warm smile as he tipped the chill drink towards his host. “ _Fi sihtik._ ” [ a traditional Arabic toast, that means “good luck” - as in don’t get caught. ]

Dante went through the effort to lean forward over the table and touch his glass to his. As he settled his unexercised, over-sexed, drug-addled body back down into the chair, Rahim took the opportunity to reign in the rambling braggart. “Now, if I may insist, I would like to speak of what comes next. You have your man to produce your documents for diplomatic transport without scrutiny of your government.”

“You came through, just as you promised,” Dante said, easily persuaded to land back in reality. “And I am a man of my word. I’ll set something up - help you get your toes wet in our operation.”

This was the window they’d been working for: case the facilities, locate labs hidden in the greenery inland and cut the blood flow off before the poison could reach the veins of the United States and subsequently the rest of the world.

“I look forward to it.”

…

Andy had done a full workout routine before Booker stirred. The coffee she'd made for him had gone cold, but it was still coffee so she knew he'd drink it. Beside the cup was a bottle of aspirin. Breakfast of the damned. 

Predictably, Booker came to with a groan, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes, though it was more like blacking out. There was no way last night hadn't been hard on him. 

"Morning, sunshine," Andy called, having the decency to keep her voice soft. 

"Fuck morning," Booker grumbled back. 

Andy grinned and breathed a laugh; he'd be okay. "Rahim is meeting with Dante over lunch. Hopefully, he'll be able to pry that fat ass up enough to get the wheels rolling."

Booker acknowledged this with a noise. Thankfully he also discovered his coffee and leaned heavily over the nightstand to slurp at it. He hummed gratefully and flopped back already working the bottle of painkillers open. "Thanks, boss," he said before popping some into his mouth and crunching them.

Something about Booker had always pulled at Andy's heart and wouldn't quit. She loved each member of her team in a unique way and none of those ways lent themselves to mortal words. The best way she could describe her feelings for Booker was like looking at a beautiful piece of art magnificently capturing sorrow. But even that didn't cut it. 

Booker leaned into the pain of living like a craving or maybe an addiction. He stumbled along the edge of the fire knowing damn well it would, _and was_ , burning him. They could try to warn him of the flames or offer dressing for his burns but the only one who could pull him back was himself. And the son of a bitch never did it. 

This time, Andy felt like she was shoving the fire right to his chest and ordering him to take it. They all had to do shitty things from time to time. Once Andy had to beat Joe to death to gain entry to a camp. Another time she had to shoot Nicky point-blank in the head and Nicky fucking hated getting shot. They did it because it was the way to get what they needed. They did it because they were pretty sure they would get back up. Maybe Andy was getting too soft in her age but she was worried that Booker wouldn't get back up from this one. 

Maybe she was projecting. 

...

"You should get cleaned up," She told him. 

Booker nodded, not looking but seeing Andy pull off her shirt to wrap her breasts tight to her body. Andy and nudity had always had a casual relationship so he noticed that she had her back to him. He wasn't anywhere near ready to unpack that yet. 

It wasn't that he pursued Andy- not anymore anyway- it was that he was lonely. He was sick with a loneliness that simple companionship couldn't cure. He saw what Joe and Nicky had and wondered why the fuck he hadn't woken up with the love of all time waiting for him. Even Andy had Quynh, though that whole thing got cocked in a way that haunted all of them. He was just…

Different. Wretched. Unlovable, maybe. 

Andy was fucking right, he needed a shower. 

...

Fresh air was such a gorgeous gift. Nicky had spent the morning rehydrating and detoxing as best he could, savoring the ocean breeze and gentle sunlight from their penthouse balcony. It was a beautiful place but hard to appreciate given the circumstances. Joe called just after one, explaining as Rahim that things were moving forward and it was time for the four of them to touch base. 

"With Dante?" Nicky asked, trying to sound blase about the possibility. 

“With Nathan, my dear,” Joe answered with an unusual epithet for him.

Nicky made a noise similar to a scoff in his throat, "And his latest accessory?" Of course, Andy would go, but since they were playing the cover he felt it was right to ask. 

“Yes! Company will be very welcome. We’re going to finally see this beautiful city. Two birds with a single stone.”

Nicky couldn't help the warm smile that took his features. Their words might be for a theoretical spy’s benefit but he still had the privacy of his mind. Nicky absently fiddled with the phone cord, imagining a leisurely walk in the sun or a quiet cafe. “Mm, fine, yes. Where?” 

“ _Escola de Artes Visuais do Parque Lage_ ,” he said, struggling through the nuance of Portuguese. It filled Nicky with fondness. Then he added, “There is a cafe.”

“ _Bella!_ ” Nicky replied before he could stop himself. His cover identity was Italian and it wasn’t an odd response, simply one more eager than Giovanni Lorenzo would muster. Nicky cleared his throat and recentered. “Good, I’ll meet you there.”

The thought of gathering everyone without the oppressive attention of Dante sounded magnificent. Nicky actually had a spring in his step as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **kibr.** (Arabic:كبر) is the word for pride and arrogance, haughtiness, conceit, condescension - considering oneself better and superior than others. It is the source of many evils and is known to be the main cause of hatred and disunity in society. It is also a major sin. (from [Islamic Terminology](https://islamic-dictionary.tumblr.com/post/8064704219/kibr-arabic%D9%83%D8%A8%D8%B1-is-the-word-for-pride-and) on Tumblr. For a more comprehensive definition, check out their post.)


	7. An Expected Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the guise of tourism, the team finally meets in person away from Dante but still aware of the possibility of prying eyes.

Nice place, Andy thought to herself as she walked past the fountain. She stayed near Booker, though not too close for Christian eyes, occasionally asking touristy questions and generally acting hungover. The dark shades she wore made it easy to scan the lawn for Joe and Nicky without looking like she was doing much of anything at all. Booker tracked the small talk easily, probably grateful for a chance to give his higher brain function a break. 

She saw Joe and Nicky at the same time, though they were approaching each other from different directions. They fell into step, side-by-side, and Booker gave them a wave. Joe looked spectacular in his sleek, tailored suit. He played the polished diamond very nicely. The thing about diamonds though- they’re the hardest shit on earth. Nicky looked like an accountant, though one with a flair of money and edge of unsavory business. It didn’t suit him but it got the job done and after all, that was what they were there to do. 

“My friends! Thank you for coming all this way. You will have to forgive me. I have been in this beautiful country for too long without seeing it.” Joe as Rahim said. He took a brief moment, scanning the grounds and soaking in the mansion before them and the jungle hugging every edge of it. The famed Christ figure loomed over the grounds far off in the distance. “It is beautiful here, is it not?” Rahim gave Nathan a firm handshake. 

The handshake connected and Andy could feel it snap Booker back into character. She nodded eagerly though no one was particularly acknowledging her, and caught Booker squinting as he looked around. "It's nice," he said. "The music is shit though." 

Nicky ducked his head hard, trying not to laugh. Booker was such a little shit sometimes. Andy loved him for it.

“It has grown on me,” Joe replied. In invitation, he extended his hand toward the steps that went up to the large building looming over the gardens. Rahim almost always played host, even in a new place. “ _Berim?_ ”

Booker blinked, sort of understanding, but thankfully Nathan had no particular reason to understand it any better. Andy bit down on a smile, swinging herself back into the clueless, dandy ingenue she was supposed to be. Thankfully, Booker did understand body language so he nodded and walked in the direction indicated to him.

It was a short, pleasant walk to the cafe. Old as she was, Andy could appreciate good scenery, especially with modern civilization crawling into every inch of the earth and putting up fucking monstrosities like track housing and shopping malls. The cafe was a cluster of umbrellas at the far end of a magnificent pool in an enclosed courtyard. It was reminiscent of Greece and Andy longed to strip off her clothes and binding to plunge into the cool sapphire water. 

More tables were empty than full and when they were being seated Andy gravitated toward one at the edge, saying, “The view is best here.” The seating host hesitated, but Andy was already moving to sit at the table. She sank into her seat, playing the slack lethargy of a clinging bender. The host debated whether or not to fight it and with a stiff smile told them to enjoy their time there. 

Having been abandoned by Andrew, the others lumbered their way over and Rahim slipped a banknote to the host with a slick, polished smile. 

Behind her shades, Andy tracked the other patrons, noting their body language and checking for any sign of interest in her and her party. If anyone was listening to them they weren’t showing it- which in all fairness meant if someone was spying on them, they were all the more dangerous. “Rio! It’s a beautiful place.” Andy stated, easily concealing her true voice. 

“This is nice…” Rahim unbuttoned his suit coat to sit, exposing a flash of his concealed holster, before sitting. “Dante is making us an appointment to see his facility.”

Fucking finally, Andy thought to herself. Dante had strung them along for days now and she was over it. Booker nodded, "He'd better if he wants to do business with us."

Rahim smoothed his lapels as he replied, "I appreciate you coming so far, but it will be a worthy job. He has hands in many places and we are investing in _that_."

Booker shrugged, "I trust you, boss. You've never let me down." Maybe Andy was imagining it, but she got the feeling that the statement wasn't just for Rahim. 

Meanwhile, Nicky was only half paying attention. Andy knew that look. "What is good, here?" she asked, looking around for a server. After the stunt she'd pulled, she knew there might be a significant delay, but poor Nicky looked like he was about to droop right down to the tabletop.

Thankfully a server happened to glance their way at Andrew's outburst and Joe waved them over. 

At those words, Nicky remembered the menus and snatched his up to browse. A frown furrowed his brow and with a glance, Andy realized it was because there were only a few small plates on offer. Andy leaned forward, grasping her menu with both hands. "We should try everything!" she declared.

Joe's head cocked a little at Andrew, still entrenched in his role and the twisted psychology therein. He threw his hands up before looking back to Booker - Nathan - with a deeper breath trying to recenter himself on the task at hand. Andy could see that her performance was frazzling Joe's nerves, or maybe it was just Rahim. 

Booker picked back up, "Is the operation about how we expected? He's an eccentric type, and I want facts over rumors."

"The facts are that he has a large facility just out of town and must have more buried in these jungles to supply the volume he is wanting to transport," Joe said.

Andy perked up, "Jungle? Does he manage tours? I'd like to see the jungle." The server approached and Andy grinned at him, "We are having one of everything! And coffees for all." The server hesitated, uncertain if it was true.

Nathan shot Rahim an apologetic look. "In appreciation of our good fortune," Booker gruffed, "I think I'll cover this one."

"That isn't necessary." Of course, Rahim would never allow his "guests" to pay for a thing. "It is my pleasure."

The baffled server decided that yes, in fact, they did want a run of the menu and promptly left. Nathan nodded, looking a little guilty. "I appreciate you bringing me out here. It's good to know my talents are appreciated- and useful."

With food on the way and Joe clearly not interested in giving himself a break, Andy leaned back and looked around, "When are you going to the jungle?"

"Not sure yet. He's going to get back to me today. For now," he sighs, trying to limber up, "we get to enjoy the jungle here. I heard this place was truly beautiful. I would love to buy it." He glanced sideways at Nicky.

Nicky looked up, past the umbrellas to the looming figure of Christ that had probably been giving him a thrill this whole time. He was thinking it through, as himself and as Giovanni. "You think they'd let you?" He mused. 

Booker chuckled, "If you have enough money, you can buy anything." He took a sip of his coffee, "What else, then? We confirm on the facilities but what about the rest? There are other people involved and I want to know who I'm dealing with." Andy cocked her head, feeling a spark of pride at how well Booker was doing.

"In time, Nathan," he said with a forced grin and a clasp on Booker's shoulder as the waiter arrived with the baked goods, soft boiled eggs, and other fast fixings. " _Obrigado_ ," he fumbled again through Portuguese before returning to his friend. "I will see to it myself that you are entering into a worthy situation."

Nicky didn't even pretend to have patience. He plucked up an egg, forgoing his usual salt and pepper, and ate half in one bite. Almost immediately, he perked up. "Does he want to see us again tonight?" Nicky asked before finishing the egg. With a hint of food in him, he could pace himself now.

"He has not said as much," Rahim replied. "I will assume we have the run of the town this evening, gentlemen."

Nicky looked hopeful. "That would be nice," He said fondly. "I'm sure the outdoor nightlife is better than- or at least a welcome addition to the places we've seen." 

Andy picked the end off a glazed pastry. The smell of it made her mouth water and the taste was even better. "I hope he doesn't bring any more strange girls in," Andrew said, petulantly. "I don't like the way he acts with them." There was an edge to Andy's casual tone. What she was actually saying was that if he tried that shit again she might just up and kill him. 

Booker, not particularly caring about perfecting his role as Nathan, leaned back in his chair, "So that's it, then? That's where we stand?" 

"That's it," Joe said with an uncertain shake of his head. This mission was clearly taking years off of his immortality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **berim?** Farsi. Shall we go?  
>  **obrigado.** Portuguese. Thank you.


	8. To Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky keeps a frustrated Joe on-mission.

It turned out they would not have their run of the town that evening. The four of them had taken a bit of time after their meeting at the cafe to look around the grounds. Even though they still had to maintain their personas for safety's sake, it had been grounding and a relief to all spend some time together. Especially after Andy toned down Andrew's obnoxious behavior. Nicky did appreciate the food though, and it had been good. Unfortunately, all too soon they parted ways with handshakes and polite goodbyes, and Nicky missed Andy and Booker immediately. 

Just as he and Joe were settling back into the penthouse, there was a knock at the door and a young boy who helped the front desk of their building stood there with a note. " _Peço desculpas, senhor,_ " the boy began before using his well-practiced English. "This was left for you when you were out."

Joe set his jaw as he looked at the note before handing it to Nicky.

It was from Dante. ' _I have news. Meet me for dinner. Half-six._ ' Then he left the address of a fairly nice restaurant.

" _Gawad ibn al-Kalb_ ," (Arabic: Pimp son of a dog) Joe growled, running his hands over his face. Half-six was in about forty minutes.

Nicky sighed heavily and dropped to sit on the bed. He'd been looking forward to a night without Dante in whatever form it took except he hadn't considered that it might exclude Joe. His heart ached. That bastard Dante was relentless, like a creature of insatiable gluttony. Nicky reached out his hand for Joe's. His love deserved a break. 

Joe squeezed Nicky's hand without looking. He was furious. "The night off will have to wait," he said, already striding to the bathroom. 

Silently, Nicky rose and followed Joe. He watched the other man scrub at his face in agitation. "This prick is terrible at scheduling," Nicky stated with frustration creeping into his voice. "Should I go with you?" he asked. It was less a question about want and more about trying to figure out Dante's unstated wishes.

"No," Joe replied. There was a roughness to his voice. He braced his hands on either side of the sink, taking a moment to breathe deep and attempt to recenter.

Nicky drew closer, rubbing his hand soothingly over Joe's back. His muscles were locked and full of tension- more so than normal, and Nicky pressed gently against the knots. He wished there was some way to speed things up on the mission. Dante was poison and they'd all breathed in too much of him. He gave Joe time to collect himself, offering support through touch and patience. 

Joe spun back up into motion with a heavy sigh. He gave Nicky a brief, pained smile and took his hand to kiss it tenderly before going to get dressed for dinner.

Nicky frowned as Joe all but brushed past him. Yes, he'd checked in with his kiss, but his mind was clearly wrapped up in an ever-darkening place. "Yusuf," Nicky called after him in a soft voice, only a few steps behind. 

The use of his proper name got Joe's attention. He turned to look Nicky in the eyes, visibly exhausted from the charade, but brightening just enough. 

The change in him was slight but notable and Nicky warmed at the sight of it. Tenderly, Nicky took Joe's face in his hands and drew close, leaning their foreheads together and taking a deep steady breath. Joe breathed with him, visibly calming and living in that moment.

"This is only temporary," Nicky reminded him. "When it's over we'll go somewhere quiet. We'll take time to restore our spirits." Then Nicky leaned back to look Joe in the eye. "You are a strong man, Yusuf, and you are a good man. I don't forget that, and I won't let you forget it either." 

Joe managed a small nod. " _Grazie, mia stella polare_ ," he said, gently petting up and down Nicky's sides. 

The endearment hit the mark and Nicky leaned into the gravity between them. He kissed Joe softly, adoringly, reminding him beyond words that he had a touchstone beside him. Joe lingered in the moment, breathing in the comforting scent of his beloved. With a final squeeze and a nod, Joe made himself let go. It was time to get down to business.

Nicky gave him a pat on the side before finally yielding Joe's space back to him. For a moment he watched but knew if he kept at it too long it would only frazzle Joe and that was the last thing he needed. 

With the looming promise of a lonely evening to himself, Nicky sighed and busied himself with making tea. No part of him was interested in going to another bar, but the thought of a long night in the penthouse by himself made him antsy already. He listened to the shuffling in the other room and mentally tracked Joe's progress. He'd barely poured his tea when Joe, slouching irritably in a Rahim suit, emerged from the bedroom. Nicky caught his eye and gave him a sympathetic look. 

Joe shook himself off and straightened with the expression and body language of Rahim firmly in place, "I will be back with word."

Nicky nodded but captured Joe's arm for one more brief kiss before letting him leave.

…

The restaurant was one that had been recommended in every society page about Rio. It was fancy, but with a casual flair and a distinct air of money. Rahim was accustomed to these sorts of places. Joe, on the other hand, was weary of the charade, but he would stick to it to get the job done. He remembered the reward at the end of all of this was keeping this poison from the world just a little longer. Then he could shed this disgusting skin and go back to being a warrior instead of a serpent lying in wait.

Similarly divested of his usual entourage, Dante was seated at a booth prominently visible from the door, the windows, and honestly everywhere. The exposure was another attempt at play-acting power for Dante and one that left the man that preferred to operate entirely in the shadows feeling even more out of place. Rahim, however, was meant to be stared at.

At least Dante would know his face when Joe ran his sword through the bastard.

“Rahim!” Dante called out before Rahim could address the waitstaff and he waved him over eagerly to the large table.

Joe plastered on a big smile and opened his arms up in greeting. “ _Salām!_ ” he exclaimed before making quick moves to cross the restaurant towards his friend. “How are you this evening, my friend?”

“Doing well, my friend. Doing well.” The two underworld businessmen warmly greeted each other. Things seemed so normal for a moment as they shook hands and Rahim patted Dante’s arm, but when they both finally sat, Dante made sure to leave the other half of the booth-table open. “And yourself?”

Settling in, Rahim glanced around, attempting to discern the point of this particular meeting. “I’m well.” He motioned casually across the table. “Who are we waiting for?”

As he asked, Joe realized a marked change in the dress of the young Italian-American. He was a little more subdued. He seemed more like the other underworld mafiosos he’d encountered before and less like the wild animal he’d been out with every night. “I have business partners in town. You should meet them. I think you’ll get along real good.”

Joe relaxed into the booth, trying to exude an air of confidence, even though he disliked there suddenly being possibly more partners in this already tenuous relationship. Dante worked hard to keep Rahim happy while they spanned the minutes before two suited, hair-slicked gentlemen arrived and Dante departed the table to greet them, leaving Rahim to drag on a cigarette as he watched.

The trio greeted one another with practiced familiarity. The older of the two gentlemen, a man bearing a rather impressive facial scar over his left temple, clapped his arm on Dante’s back as they made their way to the table. As they drew closer, Joe could make out fragments of their conversation.

“-sends their well-wishes, Danny. We’re excited to see what you’ve got for us.”

Dante patted his compatriot on the chest enthusiastically as they approached the table where Rahim waited, rising with no hurry to greet the newcomers correctly. “This,” Dante said with a grand gesture towards the man he believed to be a Persian gun runner, “is Rahim Mokri from Persia.” The men with identically slicked-back hair looked to him in wonder like Dante just told him he was a rare exotic animal.

Fuck Americans.

“Mr. Mokri, these are my associates from New York, Anthony Bianchi and Vincent Taccetta.” The three shook hands firmly, each inspecting the other for all the obvious earmarks and weaknesses. Rahim offered them both a friendly smile to assure them he could, indeed, destroy them with a word.

“Dante here has done nothing but brag about how good of a partner you’ve been, Mr. Mokri,” the one identified as Vincent said, intending to ingratiate himself to both Rahim and Dante at the same time.

This, of course, played to Rahim very easily and he laughed, clapping his hand on Dante. “Has he? Our business is new and he is already so eager for more.”

Dante laughed half-heartedly. “We’re ready, gentlemen. Rahim was the missing piece to get the goods from this beautiful paradise back to our city, into yours - and the family’s - hands.”

Joe clocked that comment immediately and filed it away with their names and faces, already sketching them in his head. Distribution was always going to be done through the mafiosos, but these were the men that were going to make that happen.

“And your brother will be happy to help, Dante, but he wants proof. Is there anything you can send back with us tomorrow?” The more polished of the two, Anthony, prodded.

Despite attempts to mask it, Dante looked to Anthony like a hungry, wild animal, but quickly covered it with a false grin. “Tony! You can’t rush art, my friend. I will have something soon. Meanwhile, you can enjoy our good fortunes here in this beautiful city. I’ll even share with you a sample, just a taste, of what’s to come.”

Art, indeed, took time, but what Dante was doing was weaving a tapestry to bring a toxin to the United States. It was art like Goya’s Saturn or Vecellio’s grotesques. The suffering of others was devoid of the spirit of art in Joe’s eyes.

“Tomorrow we’ll have everything in order, right, Rahim?” Dante continued, attempting to employ Rahim in his bragging.

“I assume you mean _after_ you show me the facilities,” Rahim reminded with a firm but friendly smile.

“Of course! Tomorrow at one o’clock! I’ll meet you at your place with a car and we’ll get the last details in order.”

All of these dramatics just to be told that there would be a car waiting. Dante was a grating insect, but he was at least a consistent one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Peço desculpas, senhor.** _Portuguese._ Excuse me, sir.  
>  **Gawad ibn al-Kalb.** _Arabic._ Pimp son of a dog.  
>  **Grazie, mia stella polare.** _Italian._ Thank you, my north star.


	9. A Hundred Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the deal begins to be sealed with Dante, the team cases his operation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay over the past few days. We had some real-life stuff come up, but also, we spent a decent chunk of time planning the remainder of the story!! We may not post _daily_ but we're working daily.

For a brief and beautiful moment, Nicky was able to forget about Dante. He forgot about drugs and guns and Lorenzo and Rahim. All that mattered and all that existed were Yusuf and Niccolò, tangled in each other; lost in each other. Somehow, between the civilized dinner and Dante's preoccupation with his visitors from New York, Nicky and Joe got a reprieve from late-night debauchery. They woke up together when the room was just filling with gentle blue light, already full of heat and gravity. 

In Yusuf's arms, all the heaviness and darkness of the past days fled. It was a baptism of fire and sweat that cleaned the soul and left Nicky feeling grounded and restored. In the still of morning, to a symphony of breath and the lingering, damp press of skin, Nicky settled into the serenity that only his beloved could provide. 

They held each other, catching their breath and not needing any words. Instead of words, there were kisses that spoke to each other, 'I love you,' 'I'm here,' 'thank you, my love,' 'always, my love.' There were arms wound around torsos just too tightly and hands that affirmed with gentle certainty. There were foreheads that bumped and pressed to crown a shared breath of two ancient men. 

In a few hours, they would slip back into the skin of Lorenzo and Rahim but until then, Niccolò and Yusuf had their time. 

…

Wednesday, Mid-day

In general, Joe’s relationship with cars began tenuously. At first, it was for an abundance of caution attached to possibly blowing up because it was a machine entirely powered by small explosions with little shielding, and despite being immortal, Joe hated getting blown up. It evolved past an innate fear of the combustion and moved towards the concern of being mangled into a metal ball in an accident, which would be very painful to be caught in. Most recently, however, he’d come to the decision that these necessary evils were, like most inventions of man, made evil by those who used them.

He pondered this at length while he and Nicky rode silently in the back of a nondescript black sedan away from the heart of Rio de Janeiro towards more industrial terrain. The warehouses near the port were more familiar to Joe than the glistening world of Rahim.

The car stopped before a nondescript, standalone warehouse that backed up to the Rio Pavuna. From every side, there was coverage from prying eyes: shipping containers blocked in the building from the front while a high treeline behind shielding the rear. For all of his faults, Dante’s thorough paranoia on occasion impressed even Joe.

The driver got out and opened the door for them to exit towards a door flanked by large men carrying assault rifles and at least one other concealed weapon each tucked into their relaxed attire. With a casual glance, Joe watched Nicky clock them as well. He followed Nicky’s piercing eyes further down to spot another one walking away across the long wall of the building.

Three armed men out front.

One of the guards opened the door for them as they approached. Within waited Dante, flanked by three more armed men.

Six and counting…

Joe clocked a jungle-friendly, large truck departing from inside of one of the bays of the warehouse before he greeted Dante with the normal civilities.

“Mr. Lucchese,” Rahim said with a laugh as they shook hands firmly.

“Mr. Mokri, glad you could make it.” Dante then greeted Nicky with the same smile as a fox about to pounce a hen. “Giovanni.”

Joe was trying to keep an eye on their body count but was distracted by the telltale crinkle Nicky got when he was forcing himself to smile before greeting their host. “Thank you for having us,” he managed.

Past Nicky, there were three guards along a long wall stationed next to large roll doors, one of which was being shut. “It would seem you have not oversold your operation here - I am impressed,” Joe said, working to stroke Dante’s ego as a cover for getting a good look at the four large pallets of white material wrapped in plastic that were being pushed further into the warehouse.

“You, of course, will get what you paid for here. Let me show you.” Dante took the lead, followed by one of his guards, leaving the other two near the front entrance. He turned and led them into a chaotic office that seemed to house the money and logistics part of his business.

A man who appeared to be another Italian-American leaned over stacks of ledgers and was checking off items on a list. Inventory management. Another man who appeared to be a Brazilian local with a fashionable edge was on a phone on the opposite wall speaking quickly in Portuguese while holding a cigarette. He put the cigarette in his lips and did his best to cover his mouth to the receiver to mute his voice as much as possible when he saw the boss walk in. An impressively large holster hung from his side holding what Joe could only guess was a large caliber revolver based on the little of the handle he could see.

This was sizing up to be a formidable infiltration. He suspected the number was only going to climb.

Dante finally stopped to brag about his accomplishments. “In here, we manage the shipping and receiving, you know, the usual businessy part of business. Got this setup from my pop, who got it from his pop running whiskey back in the teens. Family business, right Antoni?” he asked, interrupting the man with the ledgers, who looked up in complete confusion.

“Uh, yeah, Dante, family,” he muttered before smiling half-heartedly at the guests.

“This is my cousin, Antoni, he’ll be the one sending you your cut of things.”

Great, Joe thought, at least ten armed combatants, and members of Dante’s family. Hopefully, Dante wasn’t going to live to attempt any form of revenge on them after all of this was done. Family always made things messier and this was already shaping up to be quite the tangle.

Dante continued to chat their ears off for a minute about how organized the system was, being sure not to reveal any useful details, such as where the labs were tucked away. He marched his guests through the offices where Joe counted another two armed men on break before he took them into the warehouse.

There were crates of various origins strewn about, but at the heart of where Dante was taking them sat at least twenty palettes like the ones Joe saw getting loaded in. Twenty palettes of cocaine. Dante had spent a lot of blood on all of this.

Before he could contemplate it all further, Dante stepped in. “Tomorrow I’d love to get your man Cartwright here and have those papers done up for Friday.”

Rahim glanced at Lorenzo, who was staring down the additional five armed men who were moving the palettes into formation. Nicky shrugged before contributing the little he had as the manager of Rahim’s affairs. “I’m sure it can be arranged.”

Dante had a small army guarding enough cocaine to start his new drug boom in the US. Joe could only hope Andy and Booker had better news.


End file.
